


Captives

by Beezlebub



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beezlebub/pseuds/Beezlebub
Summary: Instead of making off with a princess during the raid on the Elf Festival, Bog winds up a prisoner of the Fairy Kingdom. It’s all very bleak... except for the fairy princess. Not the younger one; she was dosed with a love potion and the way she hangs around his cell almost makes him feel like the bars are there to protect him.No, the bright side is the elder sister, who broods and threatens and scowls at him... and makes his heart and body do terrible, exciting things.
Relationships: Bog King/Marianne (Strange Magic)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I realized there aren't enough sexy Strange Magic stories so I followed my Possum Senses into my deepest internal trash troves and created this. I'm not entirely sure how graphic the sexual content will be at this point, but it's definitely in M land to begin with. 
> 
> Also... I haven't seen many (any?) imprisoned Bog stories... so I'm doing that, too. Cuz I like 'em vulnerable. >:)
> 
> Also also, I didn't get to do much with Roland in my last fic and I'd like to go full-skuzz with him in this one. Come for the nice hair, stay for the schemes.
> 
> Encourage me to update! It's motivating to know people want to know what happens next.

"Release my sister, you scaly-backed cockroach!"

Bog ground his teeth and rounded on the fairy just in time to see the moment when everything went wrong. 

The goblins holding her down were big. The two bruisers gripping her arms were each easily twice her weight. By rights, those two alone shouldn't have had any trouble with one skinny fairy. And they weren't alone; two smaller goblins blocked her from the front, a tangle of bodies restraining her.

So what Bog saw when he turned around really didn't make sense. The fairy punted one goblin across the stage and threw off her hulking captors in what appeared to be a surge of berserker rage. An animalistic roar came out of her as she stomped the last small goblin before her, using him as a springboard to launch herself through the air--

\--to where her sword jutted up from the edge of the stage.

She ripped it from the wood and leveled it right at Bog, but rather than lunge at him as he expected, she bellowed.

"Are you cowards or are you _fae_?" she demanded, her furious eyes casting sideways over the cowed people. "Folk of the Fairy Kingdom, help me put down these invaders!"

The words cut the air and left a brittle silence. Bog smirked nastily and raised his staff from its defensive position to point at the waiting fairy.

"You had it right the first time, _princess_. Now surrender."

" _Never!"_

She finally attacked, taking two running strides and driving that silvery blade for his heart. 

Bog knocked the strike wide with a flick of his staff and changed direction to crack her in the face - only she darted back, impossibly fast, and swung in from the other side, trying to take advantage of his missed swing. Bog was quick, too, though, and he turned his block into a low jab. She took wing to evade and chop at him from above. It was all Bog could do to raise his staff in time to block her with a two-handed grip. 

Sparks flew between them where steel clashed with bronze. Their eyes met, and all at once Bog understood three things he hadn't known a half-instant before. 

First, this fairy was beautiful not just in the fairy way, but in the goblin way. Her eyes were deep wells of feral passion he could feel himself slipping into. Her influence shuddered through him, jarring as her blows, searing as those sparks. 

Second, to his immeasurable horror, Bog realized that his body was _awakening_ to this fairy. Never mind the proper ways courtship was done, or all the people watching, or the very real mortal peril literally hovering over him... or even the fact that Bog was an _adult_ and these things weren't supposed to happen anymore after he shed his nymph carapace. Despite all of that, his body decided this was it; this was the moment, and, entirely without his permission, it began preparing to mate. Blood rushed into parts of his anatomy at an alarming rate, and his scent spots got warm and tingly, and it was only with supreme effort that he managed to stop his mind slipping under a sweet fog.

(The exact thought that turned the tide of that little internal war was, _She has no interest in doing_ anything _with you except cleaving you in two on her way to set her sister free._ )

Third, Bog realized that, in his current state - with his thinking compromised and his body teetering on the brink of a truly humiliating display of appreciation (for a _fairy_ of all creatures) - he was not going to be able to win this fight. 

At least, not so long as he played fair.

With a shout, Bog hurled her back and, when she darted right back down to hit him again as he'd suspected she would, he sidestepped and angled the staff so that he could take to his own wings and shove her down into the goblins who had held her before. They caught her, and the whole lot of them fell into a jumble.

"Stay down," Bog snarled, and then - because the fairy still had a grip on her sword and did not look likely to obey - he whirled toward where the fairy king was still securely held. "Return the love potion by moon-down, Dagda, or you'll never see your daughter again!"

The king looked suitably terrified and helpless, but the un-bagged princess roared something about having his head and was attempting to kick her way free of her captors once more. They finally wrestled the sword from her hand, but that was small relief...

Because by that point, the watching Light Fields folk had grown emboldened by their princess's display of courage and fortitude. 

A handful of pixies shot into the faces of the trolls holding back a pair of fairy guards... so those two broke free and started a scuffle. And then an elf in an insipidly fancy hat flung a nut cake that knocked a kelpie off its perch, which sparked a whole storm of edible projectiles. In a matter of seconds, the entire festival became a roiling mass of combatants. 

And, since the goblins present were little more than a small raiding party, intended for stealth and speed rather than all-out conquering, the odds were swiftly turning against them.

"Apprehend those ruffians!" It was a new voice, belonging to a fairy captain in resplendent shiny armor. He seemed more intent on directing with his sword rather than using it to join the fight, but Bog hardly noticed. He was more preoccupied with commanding a quick retreat for his own people. As they disengaged, he sped upward to accompany their captive and began moving out. 

Since the sounds of dwindling struggle were what he expected to hear, there was no warning when the purple-winged fairy overtook them. She dropped out of the sky onto the captive sack like a hawk, yanking it free of the two goblins who had been carrying it between them. One second, all was as it should be. The next, there was a purple flash and the sack was gone. Snarling, Bog dove after her.

Behind him, unseen, his goblins floundered in confusion.

By the glow of the just-risen moon, he could see the fairy was struggling with the awkward weight of the bag. Gravity was with her, though, and she fairly plummeted toward the ground - but Bog was faster. Just as she fell beneath the canopy of the wildflowers, he got a grip on the bottom side of the bag and heaved upward. The fairy whirled on him with bared teeth, but she couldn't draw her sword with her hands both gripping the bag.

At so short a distance in the close air beneath the flowers, Bog caught a warm gust of her scent – sweet and bright with a citrus sting. It nearly knocked him off-kilter, but he ruthlessly held his focus on the fight. He bared his teeth back at her and swung his staff, trying to force her away. She dodged easily and didn’t even loosen her grip.

Bog pulled. The fairy pulled right back. They raced between the trunkish stems of flowers, neither willing to give an inch.

So the bag finally did. 

With a mighty rip, it split along the seam and the other fairy spilled out, directly into Bog's waiting arms. 

"Hah-HA!" he crowed, backwinging and making to fly out of the flowers to rejoin his goblins. He was too busy gloating at the seething fairy below to notice the one in his arms rubbing her eyes and blinking up at him like he was the most glorious thing she had ever seen.

Then she flung her arms around his neck and squealed. "Oh, you smell so _nice_!"

Bog, shocked and embarrassed, dropped her. Or tried to. In effect, they both dipped toward the ground and she threw open her own wings to float along with him, her fingers still combing through the scales of his lapels. The dreamy look on her face made him deeply uncomfortable, and her fingers sliding between his chest scales felt entirely too pleasant. With his most horrifying snarl, Bog swept his staff between them and pushed her away until she couldn't reach him anymore.

"Dawn!" cried the other fairy as she swooped up to them, sword in hand once again. "What are you _doing?_ "

"Falling in love," Dawn sighed, not even bothering to take her eyes from Bog. She didn’t seem effected by the sight of his fangs in the slightest. In fact, she clutched her fingers together under her chin and _beamed_ at him.

Bog shot the armed fairy a wild-eyed look, though whether he was more afraid she would run him through or let her sister have him, he wasn’t sure. But the incredulous gape of her mouth, the slump of her shoulders, and the annoyance and horror in her tone when she said her sister’s name again all seemed to indicate he was safe from those two possibilities, at least for the moment.

Dawn took advantage of his brief distraction to twist under the staff, sling an arm around his neck, and snug herself fully up against him. “Oh, don’t stop carrying me. It’s so romantic.”

Her hip brushed against his lower abdomen, and his still-excited parts gave a sucker-punch throb at just that hint of contact. At the same moment, his stomach plunged – because even though his body was approaching an uncomfortably amorous state, it wasn’t for _this_ fairy. 

It was for the other, that wild sword-swinging fury, the darker sister… who was watching Dawn scent him and crawl all over him right now as if she had some claim on him. She was right there, watching him _allow_ this.

Bog had never felt this way before. Plenty of his mother’s candidates had vied for his attention – but that was about the throne, not him, and none of them had ever been so… forward. Or so effective; none had struck when his blood was up as it was now… because that had never happened before. An irrational thought lanced through his brain like lightning, perfect and crisp in its clarity.

_I’ve found a compatible mate and this intruder is trying to drive her away and take her place._

Swiftly followed by…

_She’d never mate with someone who looks like me. I won’t be a fool. I won’t be used. Not by either of them._

Bog forgot about his plan, forgot about the love potion and the hostage he needed and the disrespect he’d suffered at the hands of his goody-goody hypocrite neighbors. Even the distant sounds of fighting overhead seemed utterly unimportant. The heat shooting through him was so much greater than any of that, and it blazed in his face hottest of all. He was mortified and aroused, and he needed to leave. Right now.

“Unhand me,” he growled, “or I’m going to make you very, very sorry.”

“Oh, you flirt,” Dawn said, tweaking his nose.

It was a gesture too cute and off-putting to be sexual, and it had the effect of a bracing breath of cold air. It helped, but she was still right up against his chest, her arm uncomfortably close to the tingling scent spots beneath his ears. Some of the malice bled out of him, but the terrible discomfort remained. Bog opened and closed his talons around the bronze of his staff behind her back. 

“It’s the _potion._ ” The other fairy said suddenly, raising her empty hand as if to stop him from… whatever. “She got hit with the love potion before she went into the bag. And when she came out of the bag-”

“-she saw me. But that’s… that’s not possible.” Even as he said it, Bog looked back into the blonde fairy’s starry eyes, her expression of vulnerable adoration. Possible or not, that was clearly what had happened. 

“Look... Please. Don’t hurt her just because she’s being… a pest.”

Bog looked back up at her, the sword hanging from her limp arm, the plea souring the tension between them. At that moment, he thought he would let her take her sister, let them go back to their soft people. He could hunt down the love potion himself if he had to, though it would sting his pride and erode his fearsome reputation to relent that way…

But her eyes in the moonlight had a honeyed glow now that she was no longer going for his throat. His pride would survive. His reputation could be rebuilt.

He released the staff with one hand and was lowering the weapon to let her come get her sister when there was a crash of wings and armor coming through the flower canopy and a handful of fairy guards came down on him, tearing him from Dawn’s clutches and bearing him to the ground. He reflexively tried to fly out of their hold, but they were too many to escape—

\--and because his wing was at an awkward angle when he connected with the ground, it crumpled horribly beneath him with an agonizing crunch. Bog let out a guttural wail and pain kicked up and down his back, his entire body alight with that more familiar fire until it burned him right out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely notes!! <3
> 
> I didn't expect to delve into fairy gender politics, but that seems to be happening, too. (Happy surprise?)

“Get off of him! You’re hurting him! Get _off_ of him!”

Marianne was shocked at the intensity with which Dawn was flinging herself at the guards, tugging them away one limb at a time. She’d never seen her sister this angry about anything. It was jarring.

But really, the goblin was obviously unconscious, and the guards were taking their sweet time clearing off. Marianne alighted and took a step toward them, intent on sorting this out with sharp words. Then a wretchedly familiar voice came from overhead and she froze where she stood.

“The invaders have been routed except for this one. Bind him and prepare him to face the king’s justice.”

“Ugh. Roland!” Marianne flew up to intercept him, blocking him from getting any closer. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Just my job, darlin’,” he said, teeth gleaming even in the gloom. “As captain of the Meadow Patrol, it’s my sacred duty to capture and eliminate any unsavory elements that threaten the Fairy Kingdom. Especially to protect you and Dawn, my little buttercup. Isn’t that right, your majesty?”

He turned to look up the way he had come. Sure enough, King Dagda was puffing his way down to join them with his entourage… And then half-fell past them as he evidently decided to descend straight to the ground instead. Roland smirked at her, then followed.

Marianne felt the usual pang of affectionate sympathy for her dad, but more than that she seethed. She couldn’t usurp Roland’s authority in front of her father. He’d say her name in that awful way he had that clearly indicated she was behaving in an unladylike fashion and simultaneously implied that ladies didn’t interfere in the business of men… But this was bigger than anything that had ever happened before. Marianne was going to be queen one day, and she was _never_ getting back together with Roland – and she certainly wasn’t about to sit back and let him push her out of any important decisions.

She darted down after them and landed just in time to see Dawn pull out of their dad’s relieved hug.

“I’m fine, Daddy. Would you please make them let him go? They won’t listen to me!”

“Of course, Dawn… Who do you mean?”

“Er… Well… My- my…”

Marianne saw the moment she realized she didn’t even know the goblin’s name. It shot a bolt through her heart to see that lost, confused look on her sister’s face. She had to step in and help her.

Of course, in the back of Marianne’s mind was a more pragmatic concern, too. She didn’t want it becoming common knowledge that Dawn was under the effects of a love potion. It was hard enough for Marianne to be taken seriously; having it known that Dawn’s faculties were compromised – and that she’d fallen in love with a goblin – would put them both under even tighter scrutiny. Not just for the duration of the potion, either. Seasons may pass and it would probably come up again and again that the princesses weren’t always entirely rational…

That’s certainly how her broken engagement seemed to be playing out.

Marianne leapt forward to scoop her arm around her sister.

“What Dawn’s trying to say is this isn’t any ordinary goblin,” she said with a meaningful squeeze, “and we need to be careful not to injure him any more than we already have.”

Roland snickered. “Why, Marianne, do I detect a note of concern for your… what’d you call him? Scaly-backed cock-a-roach?”

“My concern,” she didn’t snarl even though she really wanted to, “is for the state of this kingdom. This guy is clearly an important leader.”

“Indeed he is,” Dagda said, accepting the goblin’s staff from one of the guards. His hands shuddered under the weight until he planted it against the ground before him. “He is the Bog King. He rules over all the goblins in the Dark Forest.”

Marianne felt a little shudder of satisfaction – to have her suspicions confirmed, of course – but it was nothing to Dawn’s squeak of surprise. She squeezed her again, silently begging her to stay silent just a little longer.

“What I’m saying is, if we treat him well and we find the love potion he came here for, we could still deescalate this situation.” She felt a moment of hope as her father looked at her and nodded along thoughtfully.

“What love potion?” Roland asked abruptly, an artful pucker in his brow. Marianne’s happy feelings drained swiftly away, leaving her with just the desire to slap that inquisitive look off his face.

“The love potion he came here for,” she said instead. “The potion he demanded – because apparently someone from our kingdom snuck into his and stole it.”

“So he says.”

Marianne nearly spat out that she knew for a fact that there was a love potion but stopped just in time. “Are you calling a king a liar?”

“No, I’m calling a _goblin_ a liar. Did anybody else here see a love potion? Because I sure didn’t!”

It was so hard to not demand how he could have possibly failed to see the love potion when it had hit Dawn just seconds after he had been dancing with her.

“I saw a glowing pink bottle,” she said through her teeth, then glared around at all the thoughtful, blank faces. “No one else saw it? What were you all-? Ugh.”

Marianne stopped herself and peered down at the limp figure of the Bog King as the guards finally all cleared off him. It was true enough that, at the moment Dawn had been dusted, a lot of the guards were being overtaken by goblins. The attack had been sprung almost simultaneously. Which Marianne might have thought was suspicious if she hadn’t seen exactly who was _holding_ that glowing pink bottle.

 _Oh, Sunny…_ _Dawn’s going to be so sad when I_ murder _you._

She bit down hard and worked to loosen her hold on Dawn when she squirmed uncomfortably.

“But seriously, think about it!” Roland threw up his gauntleted hands, framing the scene with his long fingers. “This… goblin _king_ decides he wants to invade the Fairy Kingdom, but he needs an excuse. So he plays the long game. Illegalizes love and imprisons one of our own citizens for making love potions, hoping he can lure us into war. Luckily, our own king wisely abstains.”

He shot Dagda a grin that made Marianne grind her teeth, then waved a hand at the unconscious goblin and went on.

“So the Bog King moves to the next phase of his evil plan. He accuses another of _our_ citizens of coming all the way over to his kingdom, somehow getting one of those flower petals even though he has ‘em all destroyed, and sneaking into his dungeons to get a potion made? That right there… is ten kinds of convoluted.”

Marianne thought it was peculiar that Roland had such a precise idea of how all this might have happened, but her thoughts were interrupted by her father’s worried voice.

“Perhaps the simplest explanation does warrant consideration.”

“Dad,” Marianne gasped. “How can you even say that?”

“Well, it’s pretty clear to see, Marianne,” Roland said with a condescending twang. He used the toe of his boot to shift the goblin’s limp arm, causing the big hand to roll over and the murderous-looking claws to fall open. “This right here is an evil and unsightly beast. One needs only look at him to know his heart is full of vicious trickery. And behold! The fangs… of a predator!”

Sure enough, the Bog King’s mouth hung open, and as everyone watched, his lips tugged back, revealing his sharp, jagged teeth. The guards gasped and muttered amongst themselves.

Marianne, though, was remembering the ferocity of him when he bared those teeth at her as they fought. That had been... really something. Compared to that, he was a napping wooly-bear right now. Disarmed and incapacitated. Even the plates of his fearsome armored exoskeleton sagged without strength, leaving him looking smaller. Vulnerable.

Seeing him like this made her… sad. And it put a strange burning feeling in her chest, like something very wrong was happening here. Not just a threat to the kingdom, but…

“He’s in pain,” Dawn said in a tiny, miserable voice.

And Marianne saw that, too. The flinch, the grimace. The wing he had fallen on stuck out from beneath his large shoulder, bent at a horribly wrong angle where the stiff pinion had snapped and the iridescent film crumpled.

“To be totally honest,” Roland murmured, “I’m not so sure that he’s a ‘he’ at all…”

“He is,” Dawn snapped. “How dare you!”

For an instant, everyone stared at her. Marianne pulled her back against her side and rolled her eyes big for show.

“You’re a creep, Roland. He’s the Bog _King._ It’s right in his name. Dad, surely you’re not listening to this. From _him?_ ”

Dagda tipped his head to the side, frowning. “A ruler must consider all possibilities, Marianne. The way the Bog King came to us tonight was not proper. He came as an enemy, not a diplomat. If this love potion really exists, then why not approach the Fairy Kingdom with the due respect?”

“I told you, I _saw_ the love potion! It’s real!”

“I’m not deciding one way or another now, but I will be asking the Bog King quite a few questions when he wakes up.”

Dawn was practically vibrating under her arm. Marianne had to actually hold her back, she was pulling so hard. “You’re seriously going to take the king of the Dark Forest prisoner? How can you actually believe this is going to _avert_ a war instead of _causing_ one?”

“Marianne,” Dagda said, and he said it in that awful way.

It made something in Marianne want to shrivel and shy back. It always had before. But tonight was worse. Tonight, the shrinking part of her refused to shrink. Instead, it grew bark and branches, and a righteous will of its own. Tonight, she knew she was right.

“I realize you’re trying to be careful,” she said, quiet and steely and not thinking at all, “but listening to Roland is a mistake. You’re letting your fear rule, and the kingdom is going to pay the price.”

There was a shocked beat of silence during which no one seemed to want to breathe. Dawn whispered Marianne’s name, Roland let out a very quiet “woah,” and Dagda’s eyes flicked away from Marianne, sweeping over the watching soldiers. She knew her mistake now, but it was too late to say the words in a gentler way. Too late to wait until they were in private.

And the towering thing inside her wouldn’t let her take it back.

“Princess Marianne,” Dadga said stiffly, severely, “you and your sister have been through a serious ordeal and you’re both clearly distressed. Return to the palace and retire.”

There it was. Not a queen, but a princess, demoted to an acceptably feminine task. Marianne could feel Roland slanting a smug look at her, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. Instead, she lifted her chin, still holding Dawn tight, and strode from the clearing so very regally and slowly that they heard the words Dagda spoke when he hoped they were out of earshot.

“Roland, see to it that the Bog King is taken back to the palace and that his wounds are properly tended. And… make certain his lodgings are… secure.”

Roland’s words were lost to distance, but his arrogant tone felt like a slap against the back of Marianne’s head. Against her side, Dawn let out a sob.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is some medical horror/anxiety and dehumanization in this chapter. 
> 
> I need to update the summary, because it no longer seems appropriate to the story as it's developing... I started out wanting to write something fun and fast and sexy and then the story took me in a different direction. All the different directions. :[
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The pain woke him the same as it had put him down, sharp and sudden and horrible. Bog groaned deep in his chest, almost a growl, and the lancing agony relented all at once. In its wake remained a steady thumping hurt, surging with his heartbeat. It took a moment for him to recognize the panicky, far-off sounds for a voice and begin to understand the words.

“-but I’m really not certain, Captain Roland,” a high voice was saying, hesitant and small. “Shouldn’t- shouldn’t you have the healer do this? I- you know I only tend the fleet…”

“Just do whatever it is you do when the dragonflies get torn up,” said a swaggering, impatient voice that made Bog’s gut clench. “The way I see it, this goblin’s wings are closer to that than any fairy’s. You’re probably the closest we’ve got to a specialist.”

“But, Captain Roland, he’s _not_ a dragonfly and setting the pinion is going to be very painful. I have sedatives but not much to stop his pain-”

“Not to worry... er, Medic... Elf! That’s why he’s restrained.”

All at once, Bog came fully awake. His eyes snapped open and he flexed his limbs against the ropes around his wrists and ankles. He was in some manner of torchlit stable, which he could tell at once from the pervasive smells of squirrels and dragonflies and the shadowy stalls lining either side of the workspace. There were saddles and tack shelved on the far wall. Near the closed double doors, torchlight flashed off the armor of three fairy soldiers with matching blank expressions.

Bog was bound on his stomach to what seemed to be a sturdy worktable. His feet hung off one end and his cheek was pressed to the edge of the other end, his arms bent to either side so that his hands were tied beneath the table, to each other and – he guessed, since he could not move them in any direction - to the legs of the table as well.

He rolled his head around with menacing slowness, already snarling before he fixed a forbidding glare on the elf who stood near his outstretched wing – his cracked and broken wing. The lower half of it sagged down at a sickening angle. Not liking the sloshing feeling he got looking at that, Bog refocused on the elf. She stood frozen and staring back at him, a little brown glass bottle in one hand and the other hovering just a breath from the break.

“You had best not,” Bog hissed, his voice even gravellier than usual.

The elf withdrew at once, hands and eyebrows all popping upward. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

But it was the armored fairy striding into Bog’s line of sight that drew the full force of his scowl. “Wakey-wakey,” he said with an insufferable grin. “We were just about to take care of that pesky wing of yours.”

“I’ll have it seen to when I’m returned to my kingdom,” Bog pronounced, deadly slow and hard, “which will be done _directly_. Release me.”

The fairy mimed a disingenuous wince. “Ooh, I just _hate_ to have to be the one to tell ya this! King Dagda has taken exception to your acts of aggression and decided-”

“ _I_ was the one aggressed against!” Bog roared, pulling again on his bindings. His wings were strapped down as well, he found, even the injured one, somehow. They wouldn’t even rattle to express how royally pissed off he was. 

But the broken one did send lightning bursts of pain racing up and down his spine. He struggled to calm himself, relax his muscles so the pain would not cut so sharp.

“Oh yes, the _alleged_ ‘love potion’.” The fairy used air quotes, his smugness only deepening. “The king knows about your deception, Bog King. And he is not am-”

" _What_ deception? Where is Dagda?" Bog bellowed. "I demand to speak to the king! Not some shined-up lackey!"

An ugly look slithered across the fairy's face, and his smirk twisted into a sneer. It was only for an instant, but Bog saw it, and it made an ominous chill settle in the pit of his stomach. Fairies were known to be vain and cruel, but he had a feeling that this one, this Roland, was exceptionally so. Despite his demands, Bog was keenly aware that he was helpless to stop that cruelty, whatever form it was about to take. He held his forbidding expression and did not shy away, did not flinch. If his status wouldn't save him, then ferocity was his last defense.

"King Dagda will see you soon enough," the fairy intoned gravely "In the meantime, he wishes you to receive proper care for your wound. And who's better equipped to see to injured beasts than the girl who patches up the dragonflies? Medic! Chop-chop!"

The elf flinched at his tone, then flicked her nervous eyes back to Bog. Her hands were shaking where they still held the brown bottle before her. She looked like she wanted to apologize again.

"Now look, you've gone and got her all scared of you," Roland said as he paced slowly around to the head of the table. "I don't know if that bodes well for your treatment. It'd be… just awful if you lost a wing in some kind of tragic medical accident."

Bog watched the elf's hands quiver together. Not a surgeon's steady hands. Not a healer's practiced calm. A frightened elf who had only ever worked on nonspeaking animals. 

The blow to his dignity cut sharp and deep. He was a king - and they were stripping him of that, stripping him of the respect due even the lowest thinking creatures, by trussing him up like a wild beast and inflicting substandard healing on him.

A terrible knot of dread filled his throat. Would he even be able to fly properly with only three wings? Fears raced through him, grim visions of his life forever trapped on the ground. No more spins through the brambles. No more fast night air stinging his cheeks. 

Not even one more thrilling midair battle with that dazzling fairy. 

The thought of her resounded, a faint, pain-dimmed echo through his flesh. Bog's mind was swamped in despair, but the stubborn insistence of his body seethed, a banked fire waiting to blaze. It gave him strength, all of which fed back into his fury.

"Hey. _Lackey_ ," he growled, letting the sound fill the stable as it would have filled his throne room. By the double door, the fairy paused and looked back. 

"It's Meadow Patrol Captain Roland, actually." He tried to make the title sound grand and off-the-cuff all at once, but his irritation was obvious in the twist of his mouth.

It was painful for Bog to lift his chin up off the table, straining muscles in his back that already trembled with fatigue, but he did it. He bared his teeth and tipped his head to the side, showed the face that commanded the fear and respect of every goblin. 

"Tell it to your tombstone-carver. As far as I'm concerned, your name is _'dead meat'_."

Roland's eyes bulged and he jerked back a little, but Bog only had an instant's satisfaction before that look of fear morphed into cunning. "Did you just... threaten to eat me?"

"What?" Bog recoiled, and the fairy went on, more excited than before.

"Oh, I think we all heard you refer to me as meat just now. Didn't we, fellas?"

The three soldiers at his side chorused in the affirmative. Roland's grin turned nasty.

"Can't be too careful when you're dealing with a predator. We better make sure he can't hurt anyone."

Bog pulled an incredulous face. "You can't be serious-"

"Muzzle him."

The three soldiers descended on him in a rush, shoving a wooden bit between his teeth and buckling the contraption tightly behind his head. The straps pressed against his scent spots with a maddening, itching pleasure-pain that immediately made it harder to think straight. Their task completed, the soldiers backed away and Bog could see Roland watching with his arms folded over his chest and a satisfied smirk creasing his handsome face.

"Alright, Medic. Better get a wiggle on - we don't have all night."

And he stood there by the door watching as Bog snarled and screamed against the wooden bit, right up until the pain swept him away once more.

.

.

Roland supervised his lackeys as they installed the goblin in the cell he'd picked out in the deepest part of the dungeon.

Because he was a man who _had_ lackeys, after all. 

"Roland," one of the boys said, glancing over his shoulder at the other two - who nodded encouragingly as they locked all the manacles in place, "is this... a good idea? I mean... this guy is important... and King Dagda may not be too happy when he finds out about the gag or the stable medic..."

"I already explained about all that. Dagda'll see the sense of it, just you wait."

"Well, yeah, but..." He looked back again, and this time his eyes darted to the still figure of the goblin, stretched out face-down on the moss hump that served as a cot. His freakish body was too long for it by far, and almost the whole of his shins stuck off the foot of the bed. "I don't think the goblin king will be so understanding, though. And... eventually, he's going to be released..."

"Maybe," Roland said, unable to contain his knowing smirk. "Or maybe a war will break out, instead."

The boys peered at him, then each other, their expressions dubious. That didn't matter, though.

Roland's new plan was actually a lot better than his old plan, if he was being completely honest with himself. 

It wasn't that marrying Marianne would have been such a chore; in fact, when she'd loved him, it had been easy to envision that perfect future. The throne, and the army, and the beautiful princess spread out enthusiastically in his bed. She probably would have even been enough to keep him satisfied - if only she hadn't insisted on waiting until the wedding night to consummate their love.

Given the chance, he could have swept her away with expert lovemaking and spun her into a web of carnal pleasures that would have kept her focused on him instead of sticking her pretty little nose into serious matters. Instead, he'd become so sexually frustrated by her teasing that he had to turn to one of the village girls for relief.

And Marianne had caught them. And then she'd gone and shattered all the rest of his dreams.

Roland was admittedly a little cross with her, still. He'd only fooled around - _discreetly_ , mind you! - because she got him all worked up and then denied him. She, on the other hand, had broken their engagement for all the world to see. And then that scene at the Spring Ball! It had all been just... _so_ embarrassing.

He could have seen his way to marrying her still if she’d been just a little bit rational or if the potion had panned out. But now, with things going the way they were, he might not even need her at all.

There were other ways to become King.

Dagda was old and fat. He wouldn't be fighting any battles - apart from the battle it had to be to squeeze his girth in and out of that breastplate. No, when war broke out, the king was going to need to send a proxy to lead their army.

And who else was it gonna be? Marianne? Ha!

She might believe she could rule alone, but it never took much convincing to maneuver Dagda into seeing things Roland's way. And if Marianne kept questioning the king's decisions in front of his men, it was only gonna make it easier to convince the old man to elevate his jilted ex-future-son-in-law into a position of real power.

A position that, once granted, would be nigh impossible to take away again.

Roland grinned at the knocked-out goblin, all those gnarled limbs and jagged edges. Those ragged, animal wings splayed out over that twisted, scaley back.

"Never has anything so gut-wrenchingly hideous been such a sweet sight to behold."

The boys cleared out of the cell and locked the door behind them, casting uncertain glances at Roland. He held out his hand until they passed him the keys, the dull metal clicking against his gauntlet as his fingers curled shut around them. 

. 

.

“Come _on_ , Marianne!” Dawn moaned as she paced across her bedroom for probably the thousandth time. “You said we would go check on him, but it’s been _hours_ now!”

“I also said we have to wait until everyone goes to sleep,” Marianne grumbled, also for the thousandth time. Sitting on the window seat with one foot up, she tipped her head to look out at the dwindling lights in the village, the moon high overhead. “Ten more minutes.”

Dawn threw her hands up, heaved a dramatic sigh, and paced.

In truth, Marianne had hoped that Dawn would settle down and sleep. Then she could go and check on the goblin king alone. He probably wasn’t in a good state right now to start with – he would be groggy from pain medicine if he was even awake at all – and having Dawn throw herself at him with her uncomfortable flirting and gross professions of love was _not_ going to make him any more forgiving about his imprisonment.

But fat chance of avoiding that now. The potion must have given her extra energy in addition to making her absolutely crazy. Dawn never relaxed. She never even sat down. In fact, if anything, she seemed to have only grown more tense. She was inconsolable. It had taken all of Marianne’s influence to convince her to sing her tragic love songs under her breath instead of belting them out for the whole castle to hear. It seemed like a foolish hope that she was going to be any better at containing herself when they got down to the dungeons.

But Marianne didn’t dare try and leave her here alone.

“Okay,” Marianne stood suddenly – and immediately had to pat the air as Dawn fluttered excitedly toward her. “Okay, okay. If we’re going to do this, you have to stay calm and quiet the whole time. No slipping away or rushing past me.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Stop rolling your eyes and tell me what you’ll say if we get caught.”

Dawn rubbed her face, dragging her cheeks downward. “I _have_ to see him or I’m gonna-”

“No! Dawn, the thing we talked about! Remember?”

“Oh! I want to be sure he’s… uh… locked up? Because I was almost, I guess, kidnapped? And now I can’t sleep?”

Marianne took a deep breath and silently begged for patience. And luck. Since they were evidently banking on not getting caught.

Taking an iron grip on Dawn’s wrist, she carefully opened the door, checked the hallway, and then hastened for the steps down to the dungeon.


	4. Chapter 4

Something was wrong.

Something very bad had happened, and Bog’s body felt so horribly heavy. His every limb was held down under impossible weight. His wing and back throbbed relentlessly. His mind, too, was fogged and slow, though a snarling voice deep in him insisted that he needed to get up and fight.

He needed to get up and _find_ _her._

Choking on a groan, Bog woke. The pain reminded him first of the injury he had sustained. His wing. Crushed.

And he’d been captured by fairies.

Their faces returned to him in a hazy rush. His sneering blond tormentor. The little princess with her sparkling, love-drunk eyes. That accursed elf who’d stolen the potion and started all this…

And _her_. The older sister, launching herself at him sword-first like an avenging arrow. His pain was terrible, but the thought of her sent electricity arcing through him all the same.

_Find her._

Bog’s eyes shot open and he struggled to swallow and banish the thought from his clearly feverish mind. The very notion was ridiculous and had sprung from some deep swampy corner of his brain, a place where logic and self-preservation were in short supply.

Find her, phah. No doubt the second he did, she would finish what she’d started with that sword.

Rather than think about it any further, Bog chewed into the wood still wedged between his teeth and assessed his surroundings.

A mossy cot. Ironweed bars and stone walls, all lit by a scattering of phosphorescent blue mushrooms. Air rich with subterranean dampness. It pressed close around him, a subtle comfort that smelled of home.

But this was a prison. Unguarded, or so it appeared. And another unexpected mercy: not a whiff of squirrels.

An involuntary shudder passed through him as he recalled the stable. The nervous medic, the shadowed stalls, the agony unclasping him from reality… that swaggering, needling little—

Behind him – accompanied by a fresh barb of pain – his wings rattled. Dread and hope and horror tangled through him and, very slowly, he dared look over his shoulder.

His broken wing had been straightened and splinted into its proper shape and was currently strapped to his back to keep it immobile. White bandages obscured whatever had been done, but Bog could smell a fixative of some kind.

He thought to tear the bandage away so he could see what had been done to him, but when he tried to lift his hand, he found his wrists were manacled together. There was no chain between the cuffs, just a short bar, just long enough that he could lace his fingers together.

Shutting his eyes and growling against the bit, he resigned himself to hopes that that dragonfly medic had known her business. It wasn’t likely he’d get better care so long as he was trapped here.

With a deep, bracing breath, Bog got to his elbows and then pushed himself up to a sitting position. His ankles, too, were locked together – thankfully by a short chain, so he would be able to walk. It was a very heavy chain, though. He felt weak, drained of all his strength from the rigors of agony… and the medic had mentioned a sedative, though he didn’t remember receiving it.

But it didn’t matter how weak he was. He needed to get his bearings if he was going to escape.

Not that he should _have_ to escape and flee across the Fairy Kingdom like some fugitive. He was King of the Dark Forest. He deserved the respect and dignity due his station, and he was frankly shocked by the treatment he was receiving instead.

What was Dagda even _thinking?_ Issues with love potions notwithstanding, the peace between their kingdoms had been steady for all the years since Bog came to power. It was beyond foolish to throw all that away now by indulging in petty retribution.

_Oh, don’t be stupid. You came into his territory and tried to kidnap his daughter, then let your guard down and allowed yourself to be captured. Like a fool. You’ve earned yourself this cell._

But the love potion was loose on the world! An elf had trespassed in the Dark Forest! Bog was the wronged party, his laws had been violated, and yet here he was, jailed and trussed up like… like a beast.

_…the king knows about your deception…_

_…who’s better equipped to see to injured beasts than the girl who patches up the dragonflies…_

_…predator… muzzle him._

Bog hunched forward, digging his claws through his soft headscales and combing along his scalp. Maybe… maybe this was about more than the attempted kidnapping. Was the fairy king angry that his daughter had fallen victim to the love potion? And that she had, by some wicked irony, fallen in love with Bog? Did he think Bog had somehow arranged that _intentionally_?

Or – and here horror dropped through him to explode in a burst of shame and self-recriminations - what if the fairy king had noticed Bog's reaction to the _other_ daughter?

What if all this was payback for Bog's audacity? What if... What if his arousal hadn't been as well-concealed as he thought? What if _all those people_ had _noticed_? What if his... 

_What if his penis had been showing??_

Bog took a few deep breaths and frantically dismissed that wild worry. He was confident. He was calm. If his penis had come out, he absolutely would have noticed - probably would have noticed little else - and it would have taken forever to get it back in. It could not possibly have happened without his knowing.

But that didn’t mean that his other reactions to her had gone unnoticed. Princess Dawn had remarked on his scent… Either her sensitivity was an effect of the potion, or fairies weren’t as oblivious to his pheromones as a lot of goblins seemed to be. An unsettling prospect in either case.

She had said he smelled… _nice_.

…would her sister think so, too?

Against the straps of the muzzle, his scent spots gave a heady throb that sent tingles all down his body.

Bog smashed the thought down brutally and fought to shake off the sensation. The elder sister wanted him dead. He needed reminding of that. If _she_ had noticed his reaction to her, no doubt she’d be calling for more than his head on a spike.

…and perhaps… perhaps the scene in the stables had been exactly that. Perhaps the elder princess had read the signs in his face or posture, perhaps she’d caught his scent when their bodies struggled close over that bag. Perhaps she’d noticed his interest – and these chains and muzzle were her reply. Not even delivered by her own hand, but by her golden lackey, because why would such a heavenly creature ever bother to lay hands on a beast?

Fairies were vain and cruel. To entertain fantasies to the contrary was the height of folly.

Bog snarled, needing to sound fierce against the ache in his chest, but the sound was frustratingly diminished by the bit in his mouth. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the gag anymore. Not one second longer. He tried to get his fingers around to work the buckle, but the manacles made it impossible to get a good grip. He clawed at the straps, but the tough material held. Not only that, but all his pulling ground the strap against his scent spots, rocketing waves of shudders down his spine. Snarling and slurring curses through his teeth, he only grew more frustrated, more determined to get the damned thing off.

He was making so much noise, and struggling so vehemently with his head down, it was no wonder they were able to sneak up on him.

“Oh my god – poor Boggy! Let me help you!”

Bog shot off the cot, instinctively taking to the air, but his lopsided flight just banged his head off the uneven ceiling and sent a fresh explosion of pain through his broken wing. He came down hard on one knee, clutching his head and growling deep in his throat.

When he finally turned his glare up, there was the little fairy princess with her face pressed between the ironweed bars and both arms stretched out to their fullest in her reach for him. Beside her, the sister was looking back down the corridor from which they’d evidently come.

“Dawn!” she hissed. “Keep your voice down.”

Then her eyes flicked past her sister and struck Bog with such burning intensity, he was immediately convinced his suspicions had been correct.

She’d put him here. She’d ordered it all.

He had no right to feel betrayed… but he did.

Unwilling to stay on his knee before her, Bog rose to his full height, squaring his shoulders and flaring his pauldrons and scowling down his nose at her. A little dizzy spin stirred his senses, but he shook it off and only glared harder. He wouldn’t be humbled by a _fairy_.

“Please, let me help you.”

Bog’s glare switched to the lighter sister and he bared his teeth at her, curling his claws before him as if he meant to make ribbons of her still-outstretched hands. He stalked toward her, spreading his three working wings in a warning display. From the corner of his eye, he saw the sister’s eyes flash, heard her sword ring free.

But before she could get the blade through the bars, Dawn grabbed his claws and held them tight in her warm little hands. Her eyes were wide and earnest, rimmed in tears. Her smile was hesitant but open and yearning.

“Don’t be frightened. I would never hurt you.”

Bog felt his face go slack with shock, felt his eyes fall open. She _meant_ it. And much as he wanted to rage against them both and lash out and _fight_ , he felt only a deep sadness when he looked into her crazy, love-struck eyes.

He could be as cruel as any fairy… but this creature was utterly helpless to him. And he found he could not even resent her for it.

With a sigh, he patted the back of her hand and withdrew. Or tried to. She caught a stronger grip on one of his fingers before he could pull away entirely.

“Let me take that thing off you. Please? It looks so uncomfortable.”

Bog hesitated. He certainly wanted it off… but letting Dawn do it would mean allowing her to touch him. And not just any part of him, but the back of his head and neck – sensitive, vulnerable places. Even if she didn’t touch him directly, the straps would tug against his scent spots again and it would be… at the very least, uncomfortable.

Despite himself, his eyes flicked to the other fairy. Her dark eyes watched him steadily, her sword hanging patiently in her hand.

“You should let her,” she said suddenly, grimly. “We need to talk… Bog King.”

It shouldn’t have made the scales down his back shiver, just hearing her speak his name, but it did. To conceal his discomfort, Bog looked away sourly and then shrugged and bent down to allow Dawn to reach the buckle.

Her fingers were quick and dexterous, and she hardly tugged the straps at all. Then the bit fell away and Bog immediately distanced himself, working his teeth open and shut and rubbing his aching jaw with the fingertips of one hand.

“There, isn’t that better?”

Bog turned back to her, brow knit in consternation even before he saw how she clutched the gag in both hands before her chest. He cracked his neck and glanced sourly about the cell, and his voice emerged an embarrassed rasp. “Er, yes… Thank you… Princess.”

“Anything for my Boggy,” she said brightly.

“Bog King,” he corrected through his teeth, immediately back to annoyance. The fairy seemed unaffected, though – just as she was about every intimidating quality he possessed. Her wings rose up behind her in a big orangey-pink display and gave a little shimmy.

“You can call me Dawn, sweet Boggy-woggy.”

Unnerved by the gesture, Bog took another step back from her. In the same moment, the sister chimed in. Finally.

“Dawn,” she said, a little scandalized. “Inappropriate!”

Dawn only stuck her tongue out at her sister and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Marianne! I just can’t help myself. Isn’t he the most wonderful guy you’ve ever met?”

Bog shared a bewildered glance with the sister – _Marianne_ – who after a beat narrowed her eyes at him and sheathed her sword so that she could fold her arms over her chest.

“Yeah. Kidnapper and keeper of illicit potions. What’s not to like?”

“Hey,” Bog raised a clawed finger and wound up to defend himself on both of those counts. “It was _that elf_ who-”

But Dawn turned from the bars, planted her hands on her hips, and spoke right over him. “Marianne, you have to be nice. You’re talking about my one true love. How do you think it makes me feel when you’re so critical?”

Marianne appeared to experience very real pain when she forced herself to say, “Right. That was… rude… of me. But _try_ to think about this logically, Dawn. How can you love him?”

Bog braced himself, resolved not to flinch.

“He’s a complete stranger,” she finished.

“No, he’s my Boggy-woggy Kingy-wngy.”

“Bog King,” Bog growled.

“And he’s tall and dashing and cute-”

Bog leaned back a little, his face twisted up with fresh incredulity.

“-and you’re just jealous.”

Bog cast a surreptitious glance at her, but Marianne only scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Right. I’m so jealous that you got hit with a love potion and discovered a whole _new_ level of boy-crazy…”

“No, you’re jealous because Boggy and I have a _real_ connection-”

“Bog,” Bog grumbled.

“-and before you went all ‘love is stupid’—” She accompanied the words with an unconvincing impersonation of her sister’s snarl. “—you knew how wonderful it felt to share that with someone!”

“Yeah, everything is _wonderful_ until you figure out who he _really_ is! I’m—Dawn, I’m only trying to protect you,” Marianne finished through her teeth.

Her cheeks were flushed with anger – or was it embarrassment? Her eyes flicked for a second toward Bog, just long enough for him to realize he was looking into a deep well of suspicion. Then she was looking at her sister again as Dawn riposted.

“Ugh, Marianne, you are always trying to protect me and you’re just- just _sucking_ all the fun out of everything!”

For an instant, Marianne looked hurt. Then she took a big breath, pinched the bridge of her nose, and heaved a sigh that was less exasperated and more genuinely pained. “Okay, fine. I’m a jealous, overprotective enemy of fun. Could you give the Bog King and me a couple of minutes to discuss some political stuff?”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “I _just_ got to see my sweet Boggy again, and we haven’t even really gotten to talk!”

Bog watched Marianne’s sour face get sourer. He still wasn’t convinced that she hadn’t handed down the orders that put him in this cell, but a traitorous part of him insisted that he also wasn’t entirely convinced that she _had_. Either way, she wanted to talk to him without her little sister present. Whatever it was she had to say to him, Bog needed to know. Before he could really think about it, he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Princess Dawn,” he said in the solicitous tone that sometimes worked on his mother. “It’s terribly late and you must be tired. Perhaps you should go get some sleep while your sister and I have our chat.”

He didn’t realize he had bowed his head toward her until she gave his giant nose a tug. “If you say so, Boggy.”

“Bog,” he grated as he straightened and scrunched his face. But she didn’t seem to hear. Instead, she was poking a finger into her sister’s shoulder.

“And don’t you dare steal my Boggy while I’m gone.”

Then she marched off, leaving Marianne staring after her with a dumbfounded look that would have been funny – if she hadn’t then turned a steely frown on him and braced her fists on her hips.

And Bog realized they were alone.

He had begun to entertain a faint hope that his reaction to her before had been half-imagined. But as she stared up at him with her undivided attention, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was rising over him, implacable as the moon. Her smell was faint but building in the breezeless air. Bog could catch a hint of it, so sharp and bright it nearly made him want to shy away.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, his scent spots began tingling in response, growing warm, and he had to consciously stop himself from licking his lips.

He was in so much trouble.


	5. Chapter 5

Marianne peered up at the Bog King and struggled against the urge to tell him he couldn’t talk to her sister like that. All… civil and cajoling… with his fake friendliness barely veiling his irritation… But he’d gotten her to go away so they could have a level-headed conversation and, right now, that was the most important thing.

She meant to start out with an apology for his treatment. Really she did. He was clearly entitled to one, locked up this way. And gagged! It was no way to treat a neighboring ruler, and Marianne held no illusions about who was responsible. Her father had left Roland in charge. Whether he’d chained up the Bog King out of cowardice or intentional disrespect, Marianne couldn’t guess. She preferred not to analyze Roland’s mind too closely; it turned her stomach.

So Marianne met the Bog King’s eye and set aside Dawn and mentally banished Roland and was mustering up the humility it took to apologize properly…

…but then he cleared his throat and cracked his neck and suddenly his demeanor changed.

Before, with Dawn, he’d been almost kind. Gentle and clearly sensitive to what a helpless wreck she was. Now that she was gone, it was like a switch had flipped. The fake friendliness dissipated and the almost-kindness went with it. He frowned at Marianne, suspicion and resentment narrowing his eyes.

“I’m waiting.” He said it like a command, like he expected not to be kept waiting and Marianne was clearly not performing to his satisfaction.

Like he was a king – and she was just a princess.

She really had meant to apologize, but instead a swell of fury rose up out of the long night with Dawn and the disheartening fight with her father and Roland’s relentless goading, and that fury swept all Marianne’s contrition and good intentions right out to sea.

“Oh, am I inconveniencing you?” she spat. “Did you have a busy schedule down here? Lots to do?”

“You tell me, Princess.”

It was an accusation, and suddenly his suspicion made a lot more sense. Marianne jerked her chin back, rightly offended.

“I didn’t have anything to do with this! Listen, if I’d gotten my way, you’d be waking up in the royal infirmary with your stupid potion waiting on the bedside table—”

He blinked, clearly surprised. If Marianne hadn’t been in the midst of losing her temper, she would have seen the anger and suspicion draining from his face. She might even have noticed the hint of softness in his round blue eyes.

But Marianne didn’t notice those things. She just went on without a pause.

“—so you could take it back to your own kingdom and do whatever it was you needed it for in the first place!”

“I _don’t_ need it – I want to eradicate it!” He took a threatening step closer to the bars and bared his jagged teeth. Marianne refused to back away, meeting him glare for glare. “As I’ve tried to explain, it was that elf – _your subject_ – who trespassed in my kingdom and my _home_ to have that potion made.”

For the thousandth time tonight, Marianne clenched her fists and imagined wringing Sunny’s neck. She’d had a lot of time to brood on it between Dawn’s bouts of morose singing, and she’d come to the conclusion that there was no reason to forgive him. He was in love with Dawn, fine, but what kind of person tried to force their best friend to love them back? What kind of an excuse was _love_ to poison someone’s mind so they weren’t even themselves anymore – all to selfishly trap them in a relationship?

It all just reinforced Marianne’s convictions; you could never really be sure what was in a guy’s heart, and trust was for suckers, and love was dangerous.

“It’s _dangerous_ ,” the Bog King snarled at her.

Marianne stared at him blankly. What he said was so close to her own thoughts that she had the disorienting feeling that he had read her mind – and was agreeing with her. But his expression only grew angrier.

“Is it not obvious to you by now with the state your sister is in? I didn’t outlaw it on a whim. My laws and my _borders_ are not some _trifles_ for you and your people to muck about with!”

“Woah!” Marianne held up her hands, finally realizing he was still talking about the potion. “Not disputing any of that. Sunny had no business trespassing in the Dark Forest, much less breaking the law of the land. He’s gonna pay, I promise you. And yeah, that potion absolutely should not exist. Ever.”

He didn’t look happy, but he settled back from the bars, frowning at her steadily. Abruptly, he looked away, grinding his teeth.

 _Trapped_.

Marianne could see it in the flicks of his eyes, counting the bars along the ceiling of the cell. She peered back at him, and her thoughts slipped back to Dawn.

“Please tell me there’s a cure.”

The Bog King flinched, his eyes suddenly widening in dawning horror. “I… don’t know.”

For a moment, they were both silent, each absorbing the implications of a love potion that lasted forever. Marianne envisioned her sister, pining all her life for someone who would never love her back. Her brightness would fade, and her joy would dissipate, and her songs would all be tragic. It hurt almost too much to think about.

“But I do know who to ask.”

When she looked back up at the Bog King, he had a steely expression on his face, as if he expected he was about to start a fight. He raised his hands before him, letting the manacles rattle.

“All you have to do is set me free, and I’ll go get the antidote.”

Marianne scoffed and raised one eyebrow at him, folding her arms over her chest. “Right. And you think I’m gonna wait here for you, like some simpering damsel in her tower, trusting that you’ll be back just like you promised?”

She let her voice go saccharine as she described the scene, savoring the annoyed look on the Bog King’s face. Then she sliced through it with dry disdain.

“No way. I’m going with you.”

His scaly eyebrows popped up at that, but the surprise didn’t linger. Instead, he regarded her with growing intensity, watching her close as if for some hidden signal. Looking for hesitance or fear. Marianne tipped her chin up and showed him none at all.

“That brave, are you?” His voice was quieter and higher than it had been when he made his promise. He was _teasing_ her. “You mean to tell me you’d willingly go with me into the Dark Forest? Into the heart of my domain?”

He smirked at her, clearly doubting she’d follow through. And amused in anticipation of her retreat.

“What if I decide after all this that I still want my captive princess?”

A weird little thrill prickled up the back of Marianne’s neck and she wanted suddenly, intensely, to wipe that smirk right off his face. He thought he could scare her. Thought he could intimidate her.

Well, he couldn’t. And Marianne was about to rub it in his face.

She took a step closer to the bars, peering snidely up at him. “Then I guess you’ll have to get your pals to gang up on me again – since apparently you can’t handle me on your own.”

Sure enough, that smirk melted right off the severe planes of his face, and his round blue eyes stared uncomprehendingly back at her. Vindictively self-satisfied, Marianne inspected her nails.

“From the _King_ of the _Dark Forest_ ,” she mocked, watching him through her lashes, “I was expecting… more.”

There was a beat of silence in which he gaped back at her. Then, the shock and offense on his face morphed into something else. He looked almost… hungry.

“Oh, you want a rematch, do you?” he growled, taking a slow step nearer.

Marianne tipped her chin up and refused to back away as he stepped right up to the bars that separated them. He loomed over her, his manacled hands fisted together before him. His mouth twisted, nearly smiled, flashing his pointed teeth.

“If more’s what you’re after, _tough girl_ , it’d be my pleasure to oblige you.”

His rumbling voice shuddered through the pointed tips of her ears, down her neck and spine, and blossomed a strange warmth deep in her abdomen. She had never felt anything quite like it. She felt electric. She felt _fierce._

“I guess it will be if you enjoy getting your butt kicked.”

“You make awfully big threats for such a little creature.”

“Size isn’t everything,” she smirked. “You sure gave up quick the last time we fought. How do I know you’ve even got the stamina to keep up with me?”

His eyes widened, then narrowed again. They were very blue. Marianne had noticed them before, of course, but she hadn’t noticed how startling and bright they were, like two cornflowers blooming out of a stone. And she hadn’t realized that being their point of focus would make her heart leap in her chest the same way clashing weapons with him had.

He leaned his head toward her until his spiky headscales brushed the bars. Hardly any space separated them at all now. There was a smell about him – something she’d caught faint hints of during their fight in the flowers but didn’t realize until now was _him_. It was like fall leaves and honey, a drenching dizzying _delicious_ smell.

“Don’t you worry about my _stamina_ ,” he said. “I can go all day.” His voice was more purr than growl, now. Marianne could feel it in her bones, in her blood beating hotter through her veins. “What you ought to be worried about,” he said, jeering mildly with his mocking half-smile, “is just how much trouble a delicate little _fluttery-winged_ fairy can hope to—"

Marianne spread her wings in a snap of air, big and aggressive. The Bog King gasped and jerked upright in surprise. The stunned look on his face was very gratifying.

“Do you see me fluttering like I’m scared of you?” she asked with no small amount of smugness.

But he didn’t answer. And he didn’t look away. He stared at her open wings for a long, frozen moment, only his eyes moving, traveling the contours of her pattern, the strong lines radiating outward…tracing those lines back inward, back to her.

Marianne wasn’t sure how to read the slow-dawning look coming over his face. She hadn’t really thought this through. She’d meant to make him jump… and hadn’t really considered until this moment how similar this was to what Dawn had done. She had just wanted to surprise him…

…and once he started looking at her wings, she wanted him to keep going…

Oh.

Oh, this had been impulsive and stupid. She got carried away and- and… _flashed_ the King of the Dark Forest when she was supposed to be apologizing to him!

 _What was she thinking??_

Embarrassment pounded through her, flooding her face with heat and making her ears ring.

But… but Dawn’s display hadn’t seemed to have an effect on him. And he’d used his wings earlier in an aggressive stance that had nothing to do with… Marianne had thought that maybe goblins just… didn’t do provocative wing things. Maybe he didn’t understand what she’d just done, what she was _still doing right now_.

“Anyways, heh…” Marianne cleared her throat and swept her wings down fast, assuming a dignified, formal posture that she’d practiced since childhood. Overwhelmed by her massive blunder, she shielded herself in layers of propriety. She made her voice steady and brisk, a businesslike voice.

“I, ah, had intended to apologize for…” She flailed an arm around to indicate the dungeon. “…all _this_. I won’t let it stand, I assure you! I just – ah – need to catch my dad at the right moment because I kind of picked a fight with him already and I have to give him some time to cool down before I try to reason with him again. But I’ll get you out. Is the point. And then, antidote. And, uh, peace between our kingdoms and… all that.”

The Bog King blinked at her rapidly with his wide eyes. His expression was otherwise carefully blank. There was a hint of pink around his cheeks, which deepened as Marianne watched.

That… probably didn’t bode well on the “goblins don’t understand wing-flirting” front.

“Well, I’d better get going! Don’t tell anyone Dawn’s in love with you! Have a good sleep, I’ll be back tomorrow bye!”

Marianne did not run out of the dungeon. She strode. Quickly. Her face getting hotter with every step.

Alarmingly, her face wasn’t the only part of her that was burning.

.

.

_Did she see?_

Bog gasped several deep, soothing breaths, but they didn’t seem to be working. His hands trembled in the manacles where they hung in front of his hips, loosely clenched. He waited until Marianne’s quick footsteps faded from his hearing. Then, one more deep breath echoing in the silent dungeon, he dared to look down.

There it was. His penis. Out and achingly hard and so… soul-crushingly humiliating.

Disgusted, Bog tore his eyes from the sight of himself and heaved yet another “calming” breath. He wanted to pace but that… that really wouldn’t help right now. With a huff, he scuttled across the cell, laid down on the mossy cot facing the wall, and began to wait.

It had all been fine at first. It had been _fine._ Well… the banter had perhaps made him a bit… bold… but he’d had himself completely under control. He’d been excited by her challenges and, admittedly, a bit aroused by her stare… and her refusal to back down, and her smirks and quips and that suggestive tone she kept using… which, surely he’d imagined… But none of that had been too much for Bog to step back from.

But then she spread her wings. Suddenly he was swallowed up in her smell and the night sky. She was the night itself, dusk and shadows and stars and watching eyes, all opening up to gulp him down and he’d…

He’d slipped past some undetected threshold. The pressure under his pelvic plates became suddenly too much and he’d—

\--relaxed. Just for a second. And a second was all it took for his body to commit to what his instincts were telling him was about to happen.

Which _obviously_ it wasn’t! She wasn’t trying to entice him; she was just antagonizing him, picking a fight, and he’d—

Bog stifled a groan. He’d been so very, _incredibly, unforgivably_ stupid.

On the brink of panic, he’d frozen before her like a prey animal trying to disappear into the loam. His only hope was that his hands, big and gnarled as they were, would conceal his reaction. He couldn’t even move them to cover up any more thoroughly, lest he draw her attention to what he was trying to hide. So he’d held perfectly still and watched. He hadn’t _seen_ her eyes flick downward but he certainly felt guilty and ashamed enough for it to have happened…

 _Don’t be dense. She didn’t need to see your hard-on to know what was on your mind. You practically_ said _it to her face. That’s why she ran away, you witless insect. You tipped your hand and now she knows!_

He’d certainly frightened her. Not with his threats – which she’d returned with interest and an uncanny knack for pricking his pride. It might not even have been the suggestive double-meanings of some of the blather that had come out of his mouth. No, the turning point had come when she had flexed her wings and he had _ogled_ her. He must have looked like a lecherous monster, practically salivating at the sight.

At the sight of… all that velvety wingspan, with those pale darts around the edges. Her eyes roasting him as she leveled her challenges… and that particular challenge she didn’t speak aloud but… the way she taunted him… he’d started to believe…

With a snarl, Bog scrubbed his claws through his headscales and hunched his shoulders and _stewed._

Wishful thinking. Self-delusion. She’d wanted a good fight. That was all. That was _it._

It felt like it took hours – hours of listening anxiously to the silence, dreading and longing for the sound of footsteps that never came, and hours of realizing that his thoughts had strayed back to her, to Marianne, to things he _had no business thinking about_ – but his blood finally cooled and his erection flagged for the last time and his organ retracted back between the plates at the base of his abdomen.

The thing that turned the tide and finally penetrated the fog over his brain was untangling that flood of words she had spoken before dashing off. An apology. Some excuses. Some promises.

_I’ll get you out… And then, antidote._

She meant to free him. She truly seemed in earnest about it. Even after he’d… She surely didn’t intend to go off with him into the Dark Forest – of course not. Bog had known she was bluffing, even if…

It didn’t matter. He would hurry back to Sugar Plum and squeeze an antidote out of her somehow, and then he would keep his promise and return as quickly as he could. Because that’s what he’d said he would do. And because he didn’t like the thought of Princess Dawn here, so addled she actually missed him.

_Don’t tell anyone Dawn’s in love with you…_

Bog frowned at the wall. Was it not common knowledge that the younger princess had been… love-dusted? That would eliminate rather a big reason for Dagda to hold a grudge against him… and that would mean it was only the attempted kidnapping he was being held for. That revelation unnerved rather than comforted him.

Abruptly, he remembered that gilded lackey’s half-formed accusations, and it all made a horribly different kind of sense.

…Alleged _“love potion”…_

_…your deception…_

The very existence of the love potion, the proof of the crimes committed against Bog and the justification for all that he had done in response, was in question. He quickly understood the implications, how his actions would appear to a suspicious fairy king. He understood, too, how little weight his word would carry here. The only other proof was Dawn’s sudden infatuation with him, and if there was no linking the potion to the elf, then Bog would remain the prime suspect in that, too.

He had to get the elf _and_ the potion. The latter was likely still missing – Marianne hadn’t indicated that she had it… but she had seemed to know the elf responsible. But could she be trusted to bring him to justice?

It would be foolish to trust her. As foolish as holding a knife to his heart and telling her to push just as hard as she liked. And yet Bog still found himself… hoping.

As to why Marianne wanted Dawn’s condition kept a secret, Bog had a feeling that wasn’t about protecting him from her father’s wrath.

He held up his hands and examined them in the dim blue light. Chipped claws, knobby knuckles, and the undersides… his palms were scarred and callused in all the tender parts. When Dawn had grabbed his fingers, he had felt the tiny fragility of her bones. Her wispy skin. He’d been almost afraid that she would scrape herself touching his tough hide.

It exposed what he wanted with Marianne for what it really was: ludicrous, impossible, horrific. If he tried to mate with a fairy, however gentle he might try to be, the poor creature was unlikely to survive his attentions.

Bog shuddered. Of course Marianne wouldn’t want it getting around that her sister had fallen in love with him. It would be embarrassing for them and frightening to their people.

He had always known he was hideous among goblins. When he was acting as a king, it lent him fearsome power; few could meet his eye and return his snarl. But if he dared act as a suitor, all that power turned back on him. And this was so much worse. Among fairies, his ugliness took on an even more threatening quality. Even Marianne, the bravest of the lot. She had matched him snarl-for-snarl and blow-for-blow—

_Do you see me fluttering like I’m scared of you?_

\--right up until she’d seen the desire in his face. Then, she had become flustered, embarrassed. Horrified. She’d run away from him. And he deserved it for being so unguarded.

Still… it cut something inside him, sharp for an instant and then throbbing, hurting.

He would keep her secret as she had asked. But he couldn’t be so foolish again. He would keep his feelings chained and locked away out of sight, even if it killed him. He wouldn’t allow his attraction to distress her ever again – assuming she could stomach the sight of him enough to return.


End file.
